Rage Against the Dying of the Light
by On the Wings of Oblivion
Summary: And so he raged. Post-War, Dramione. (Sorry the story break lines keep disappearing but it should be fairly obvious when there's a large difference in time and place)
Rage, Rage, Against the Dying of the Light

 **A/N: I don't even know. Post-war Dramione**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit is being made, belongs to the fabulous JK Rowling. Also Do not go Gentle into that Good Night is by Dylan Thomas not me.**

He watched her. Always. As she sat in that cruel and cold cell, he watched. He watched as she ate the meagre scraps of food she was given and he watched as she tried to soothe the wounds and scars on her skin. He watched, and he raged. He raged at this girl, a stupid mudblood who had managed to beat him in every class, a stupid mudblood that had been the reason for countless lashings from his father. A stupid mudblood that kept him awake every night.

There wasn't really anything special about her. Bushy hair, average features, but to him she was an angel. A angel that was a demon in disguise sent to bring love and ruin to his world. An angel sent to bring hopelessness, longing and the fact that she would never be his.

And so he raged. Why did this average mudblood, this average mudblood that had caused him such strife, manage to squeeze herself into the corners of his heart? Why was fate so cruel, and dealt him such a harsh hand? Why was she never to be his?

In between meetings and the such he always came back to her, to study her, to memorise her features, just in case one day she would disappear. He knew it was to happen soon. He had said so. She was no longer of any value to them, with Potter having already died and all. She was to be quietly disposed of, her body dumped in any old lake and river, only to live on in memories and legends. And he was to do it.

He didn't think he would ever be able to bring himself to kill her. After being with her for so long, he had grown so attached, so adoring of her. Even though she was but a useless mudblood, he loved her still. He always would.

The day was coming nearer. Closer and closer to that moment he would have to draw out his wand and say the curse that would doom them both. That would kill her heart and break his. He had spent the past few weeks formulating plans in which he could avoid doing it. That way at least he wouldn't have to see her eyes as the light left them. That way at least he can go back to pretending she was happily in Australia with her parents and he would retain some of his sanity.

He received news today. A fire in Wiltshire. A fire at the Malfoy Mansion. A fire set by the Order. A fire that killed his parents.

A haze seemed to be surrounding his mind. His sanity slowly dripping away. He didn't believe it of course. Not at first. At least not until Voldemort himself came to sympathise his loss. Not that there was much sympathy involved.

The order. Always ruining everything. They could kill his parents but they couldn't come and rescue her and spare him of his fate. Useless. The lot of the them. And her, she was part of that stupid Order, the stupid Order that had murdered, just as brutally as his side, his parents. And she was friends with them. Hell she probably would've encouraged them if she could. She probably would've lit the fire herself if she could.

That stupid girl. That stupid stupid girl. She would have to pay.

Blood. Everywhere. On the walls. On the floor. On the whip he held. On the back of the girl he'd almost killed. On the back of the girl he just couldn't bring himself to kill. Puddles of the stuff everywhere, staining his robes, and he looked on, and he watched, again, as she drew in labouring breaths, trying to form laboured words.

"Please."

As if begging would help her case. She had killed his parents. Yet he could still not kill her.

Tossing the whip aside, he strode out of the cell, locking it behind him. As if she could even drag herself off the floor to escape.

She was found dead the next day. The Dark Lord congratulated him. He ran to her cell, his heart screaming, to find her lying peacefully on the straw, as if nothing was wrong, as if she wasn't dead. As if he wasn't the cause of it.

And his screams became very real and his vision darkened and his heart shattered as he was dragged off.

"It's about to start again. The memories they will be repeating from now."

"Okay. What do I need to do for him?"

"Nothing. He will stay in this hospital bed as he repeats the events in his mind, with the occasional moment of sanity in between."

"And when should I expect those moments of lucidity?"

"They're pretty random, and if he wakes during a part of his memories that's particularly bad, it'll be worse than when he's in the memory."

"I don't get it Doctor, why can't we just obliviate him and get rid of the memory entirely?"

"Because, Mr Malfoy, his entire mind is clinging onto this one thing. If we were to obliviate him he would lose all he had worth living for. His heart might literally break. Mind you, Scorpius I know you aren't especially fond of him with him killing your mother and all, but we need to remember all his experiences with her before she was caught had been erased from his mind, and he wasn't particularly same back then either."

"I know. I wish things had turned out differently."

"I think we should just be grateful that they found that resurrection stone and bought Mr Potter back to life in time to save us all. Imagine what if would be like if we were living under You-Know-Who's rule."

"Thank god for that, I don't think my father could've even received treatment if it was Voldemort ruling."

"Probably not, Mr Malfoy, probably not. Now you best be off, I know your Godmother usually comes to organise all this, so you don't know how it works, but I expect you to visit at least once a week, so I can give you updates, OK?"

"Yeah of course doc. I'll come again next Wednesday."

"Okay Scorpius, give my regards to your godmother, Ginny, and tell her congratulations on the pregnancy."

"Will do, will do."

On the night Draco Malfoy died, he had a scrap of paper in his hand. In it was written these following words:

Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.

 **A/N: Sorry it's crap it's 12 here so I'm not entirely conscious right now. Probably so many spelling mistakes. By the way the last bit is basically saying he would've fought for her if he could, that her death was not for nothing. I know some people don't like me tacking things on on the author's note but some stuff really is too messy and hard to explain in the actual story. Hope you liked it :)**


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